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Post by account_disabled on Dec 10, 2023 19:40:27 GMT 14
This post comes from my latest reading failures. I had just finished reading Guido Morselli's Diary and had chosen another book, it was Time to Kill by Ennio Flaiano, winner of the 1947 Strega prize. I abandoned it after 3 or 4 pages. So I take Philip K. Dick's Post-Bomb Chronicles . And it happens the same. Interesting book, but attention wanes and I'm looking for another one. I convince myself that perhaps this is not the time to read fiction and begin the voluminous essay The Golden Bough by James Frazer. I finish the introduction and finally attack the Phone Number Data essay, which I leave after less than 3 pages. Okay, I need more. I return to Guido Morselli and start reading Contro-pasto proprio , an alternative history novel, which I leave after a few pages. Maybe it's time to change genre and era, I tell myself, and I begin The Last Man by Mary Shelley, the third novel by the writer who created Frankenstein . I abandon the introduction which reveals too much of the plot and start the novel, which I leave after 3 pages. Reading and moods I had already talked about how the mood of the moment greatly , or rather totally, influenced my reading, but something like this had never happened to me. It's true that this, for various reasons, is a dark period, but not being able to find a book to read in a pile of 1500 volumes makes you think. Yet it is like this, so much so that I was convinced that perhaps I should abandon reading for a while, but there's no question of it. I rather read 3, 4 pages of every book I own.
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